"Foggy, rainy, and high humidity is no way to end the month, October."
Okay, that doesn't have quite the ring to it as Dean Wormer's advice to Flounder: "Fat, drunk, and stupid is no way to go through life, son." But it will have to do. I'm not trying to mold Animal Housies into productive citizens.
Wednesday morning, I went to push in some chairs the students left gaping as they shot out of my classroom faster than the cartoon Tasmanian Devil. I swear. If I told them to leave the chairs gaping, they would jam them in tighter than king-size, 61-pound-gaining, disability-seeking Homer Simpson stuck in a water slide. It's a kid thing.
I almost threw out my back. Thank the Gummi Mary, Mrs. Hillbilly Mom has an industrial-strength backbone. Those chairs were harder to move than a 10-ton Acme anvil plopped onto a landscape of flypaper, narrowly missing the Roadrunner. BeepBeep!
This was so different from the day before, when those chairs slid easier than an anorexic wearing bowling shoes across a polished marble floor coated with Crisco.
Remember, my 31 desks and 32 chairs have 252 chair-shoes among them. You can't tell me that every one of those shoes stepped in gum overnight. No sirree, Bob! And short of gravity multiplying exponentially overnight, or Mrs. HM losing 99% of her muscle mass from too many recliner naps...there must be another explanation.
I think it's the humidity. Those felt-bottomed chair shoes soaked up their weight in water vapor, and were too bloated to move two inches. Even when strongly encouraged by man-handling. Not that Mrs. Hillbilly Mom has man hands. She doesn't even like lobster.
2 comments:
Okay, no "man hands" but do you look eerily different, depending on the lighting?
Today I was stuck for five hours with eight-year olds who were hopped up on sugar. Thank goodness tomorrow is a staff development day...
Sioux,
You almost stumped me, Madam! I first checked my nose, to see, perhaps, if it was very large and needed bobbing. Thank the Gummi Mary that was not the case, because I've heard that such surgery could leave one looking even more abnormal.
I do not have the Two-Face lighting problem. Nor do I celebrate Festivus, picket a bagel factory, or give my (fake) phone number to a plethora of men.
Furthermore, I do not date men who are simply poor, hire an intern for the summer, offer to wake up marathoners in time for the race, or rent dresser drawers as sleeping space to businessmen.
I do, however, admit to working in a fictional factory, though "Vandelay" is not part of the name.
Good to know those kids were only overdosing on sugar. Too many pipes and cigars, and they'd have skin like an old catcher's mitt. You'd have to look away. They'd be hideous.
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